


never to suffer (would never to have been blessed).

by flustraaa



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Criminal Minds RPF
Genre: (only minor whump though), Angst/Fluff, Drunk Spencer Reid, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e01 It takes A Village, Gen, Hurts Spencer Reid, Sad Spencer Reid, Sassy Spencer Reid, Sleepy Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Angst, Spencer Reid Fluff, Spencer Reid Whump, Spencer Reid crying, Spencer Reid has anxiety, Spencer Reid has depression, Upset Emily Prentiss, good friend Emily prentiss, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa
Summary: “you cannot possibly still be mad!” emily calls, following reid as he takes a long swig from the wine bottle.to his credit, reid turns around sticking a finger in his mouth before waggling it in the air, as if to search for wind, “aha! just as i thought!”she blinks at him confused and he sends her a sarcastic but pointed smile, clarifying, “i don’t feel the winds of change. that must mean i’m still upset.”
Relationships: David Rossi & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ” Jareau & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid & Penelope Garcia, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 4
Kudos: 377





	never to suffer (would never to have been blessed).

**Author's Note:**

> not super important, but it makes a later comment a little funnier if you remember this is set a little before e07s02.

Spencer stumbles in his front door, borderline smashed. They’d just finished the Doyle case, Declan was safe, Doyle was dead and the others were dealt with appropriately. They all have their jobs still— which he’s still not to excited about. He closes the door, making sure he locks the door behind him— he may be utterly wasted, but that doesn’t erase the fact that he hunts serial killers almost everyday.

He’s starts the pouring of a glass of wine from the unopened bottle that’s been in his fridge since Christmas when Garcia brought it. He’s in the middle of said road to becoming completely obliterated when the door opens. 

He doesn’t bother looking up. The only people who have keys are JJ, Garcia, Morgan, and Em— oh, _God_. 

He wills  his eyes to focus the glass of fermented fruit, the stem placed elegantly between his fingers— Morgan had seen him get drunk once during their eight years of friendship, and he’d been surprised to find that the Spencer somehow loses his clumsiness. 

“We need to talk about this,” Emily says simply, shoulders tense and position commanding. 

“Sorry,” Spencer replies, taking a long sip of the red wine before looking at her, one arm crossed and the other holding his champagne, “Sober Spencer can’t come to the phone right now, he’s wasted because his friends lied to him for ten _weeks_.” 

She walks closer, putting a hand over the mouth of the cup, pushing it down to rest on the table, which earns a sharp glare from Reid. She doesn’t wither in the slightest, filling a glass with water. 

He stares at it as if we’re a foreign substance. After a moment of eyeing the cup, he drawls, “I don’t drink... _water_.” 

She blinks, unamused as she flips on his coffee machine, “you do now. Drink.” 

He sighs, draining the cup in three gulps. They repeat the cycle until water is replaced with a cup of coffee. 

He’s still drunk, that’s a given. Reid’s _sass_ on the other hand? Significantly muted. He sighs, setting the mug down and beginning to disappear down the hall. 

“ _Reid_!” She calls after him, but he turns on his heel and she just barely stops before crashing into him. 

“Prentiss, I just chugged six cups of water. Am I allowed to pee or am I no longer allowed to do that?” His voice is clipped and if Emily has learned anything, it’s that Spencer Reid does have his limits. 

True to his words, he reappears after a long few moments pass— and though he’s not in the shape to drive, his words definitely have begun to lose their slurring quality. 

His eyes are lined with red, but she decides to leave it, handing him his coffee and leading him to the couch. He sits, curling his legs up beneath him, and for a moment all she can only think about how _impossibly_ _small_ he looks. 

He traces the lip of his coffee with a finger, looking incredibly uncomfortable in the situation she’s put him in. 

“We need to talk,” she repeats, eyes trained onthe lashes that flutter over his cheeks as he looks at the mug in his hands, “I know this was a lot for you.” 

“It was a lot for Morgan too,” Spencer speaks suddenly, finger still tracing the rim of the mug with a finger. “But I don’t see you breaking into his apartment over it.”

“There’s something about you that makes you think you need to compartmentalise,” Emily says, and she’s shot a sharp glare that clearly says, ‘ _do not profile me’_. She ignores it, “Morgan lashes out, but you keep it all bottled up and one day it will kill you.” 

“Then I’ll die,” He retorts, voice dry and eyes devoid of emotion, “But it’ll be real, when I finally do.” 

It’s meant to hurt her, but she doesn’t falter, staring back at him with just as much intensity. 

Spencer breaks eye contact first, eyes returning to the lip of his mug. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, the hostility draining out of her at the despair that lingers below the surface. “I want you to yell at me, to cry, to do anything. I want to get rid of this wedge.” 

She knows him well enough to know that if she pushes hard enough he will break, and when he does he’ll hate himself for it. 

“I understand,” He states finally, gnawing on the inside of his cheek, “I understand that you had to do what you had to do.” 

She doesn’t say anything, know that’s he’s speaking as quickly as he can gather his thoughts. 

“But you played words with friends with JJ, and you never once thought to tell us you were alive. I know you think you lost us, but you’ve never had people keep leaving you.” 

Her heart stutters to a stop, watching as his eyebrows furrow and he bites his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. His breaths shake as he tries to build himself back up enough to continue. 

“People keep leaving me, and it’s _always_ my fault. Every single time. I know you didn’t tell the others either, but it just feels like JJ didn’t tell me because she knew it was my fault too.” 

“ _Spencer_ ,” she breathes reaching out, but he flinches away, evading her touch to stand in front of the bookshelf. His head is bowed, and he pulls a book, running his fingers over the binding with a sniff.

“Eleven weeks and I’m still crying over it,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Emily, “I spent ten weeks at JJ’s couch, and it took me everything I had not to call my old dealer. To not scratch at my inner elbows until they bled.” 

He turns to look at her and there’s tears running down his cheeks, “Emily, I hate you for what you did. But I only hate you because I hate myself for letting me care about someone so much. Especially, when I know that they always leave.” 

“Spencer, I would _never_ —“ 

“Emily. You already _did_.” 

He tries to breeze past her but she grabs him by the arm and he blanches. Her eyes widen, “Did you—“ 

He rolls up his sleeve and true to his word she just sees healed over spots from the needles that he’d used half a decade ago. 

“No, but I’m glad you didn’t trust me. I wonder what it would’ve felt like if you trusted me and I had lied, _huh_?” His words are sharp, and she can tell he’s trying to mask his sadness with anger. 

She deserved that, though. 

“ _Reid_ ,” she murmurs, and he drops his head a sigh leaving his lips. 

“What do you want me to say?” He says, and his voice cracks along with his façade, “that I thought I was going to drops to my knees when I held your casket? That I had more panic attacks over the loss of you than over being kidnapped?” 

She just watches him with sad eyes, as tears slip down his cheeks and he doesn’t bother wiping them. His breath start to come out in irregular wheezes, and he sinks down to the floor, back pressed against his bookshelf. 

She doesn’t feel adequate enough to deal with the mess she’s made of him. She’s only ever known Morgan to talk about Reid’s panic attacks, and how to deal with it. When she watches him bury his face deep between his knees, she knows should’ve listened better. 

“Do you have any medication?” She’s pretty sure she knows the answer, but when he nods she find herself floored. “Bathroom?” 

He nods again and she tears off to his bathroom. When she enters, it’s the same type of organised as it normally is— except theres three packs of medication pushed into the corner, half-empty. 

She blinks, picking up the two bottles in front first. In her right hand is an antidepressant, the other a beta blocker— _I’m getting warm_ , she thinks. She reaches for the final bottle and sees the word Alprazolam. She halts— she’s got this kid fifty shades of _fucked_ up if he has a half gram Xanax prescription on his bathroom counter. 

She grabs the latter two bottles, heading back towards Reid and setting them down, getting a glass of water before fully sitting down beside him. 

“Alright, Kid. Xanax?” Again— a clipped and jerky nod, “split tab?” 

He shakes his head, managing to force out the word, “full,” with minimal stuttering. She blinks at the idea of him needing a full one. Slowly, she returns to reality, holding open his palm and tapping the yellow plastic against it until a white pill lands there. 

He shakily brings a hand up to his mouth, struggling to get down the sip of water without choking on his irregular breaths. 

“It should work in ten minutes, right?” Reid nods again, shakily, bracing his palms against the floor and eyes squeezed shut as he tries to regulate his breaths. 

She watches as his breaths begin to slow and he crawls out of the corner she’s backed him into. Once he is almost fully out of it, the only evidence of anything happening being his chattering teeth and unusual pallor, she sits beside him, patting his shoulder with her back against the bookshelf. She pushes the bottles to the side. 

But then something that breaks her heart happens. Reid’s head lulls onto her shoulder, and he breathes out heavily. 

“I just mixed alcohol and Xanax,” her heart starts racing, but it’s clear he expected her to panic because he rests his hand on her own, “It’s fine, I only had two glasses of whiskey, two sips of that wine, and a half gram. I’m just tired. I’m not going to OD.” 

She relaxes, and sighs, “You are so lucky you can get drunk on nothing.” 

He just sighs, head still rested on her shoulders as his eyes begin to droop. She lets her cheek drop against the crown of his head, bringing her free hand up to press against his cheek, “I’m sorry for leaving you.” 

“Just tell me before you do it next time.” He brings his free hand up, lazily plopping it on her own. She knows he’s not mad anymore, but it could just be the fact that he’s on the verge of knocking out. “It hurt so much, Em. You’re the only person that I told about my migraines and then JJ told me you died. I went to her house for ten weeks crying over it.” 

“Why made you stop?” She finds herself asking.

“You came back, and then I was too enraged to be sad with JJ.” He whispers, despair present in his voice. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too— and I know it’s a different kind of missing, especially since I knew you were alive,” she wraps her other arm around him, holding him tight. “Are you still mad at JJ?”

“Oh, _absolutely_. If she pulls anything I’ll obliterate her on sight, Emily,” his voice is deadpan, and if threats could kill JJ would be buried in that empty casket with Emily’s name on it. 

“What’s with all the medication?” Emily questions, voice guilt-ridden, “are those all because of me?”

Reid shakes his head, “don’t give yourself that _much_ credit. I’ve been on beta-blockers since my freshman year of college, and I started taking the insomnia—“

“The _what_?”

“Don’t look through my cabinet,” he doesn’t stutter, continuing, “I switched anti-depressants when you left, because I was having attacks so bad they needed to add Xanax and the medication I was on stalled how fast it hit me.”

“I’m sorry, Reid,” she whispers, taking his hand, “I’m _so_ sorry, you know how much I love you, _right_?”

“Yeah,” He slurs, unable to fight off sleep any longer, the truth spilling from his lips before he can think better. “I’m not quite ready to forgive you, but I still love you. You’re one of my best friends.”

She sighs, combing his hair back, not unlike she would Sergio’s fur. After a few moments, sleepy huffs leave Reid’s slacked jaw at regular and relaxed intervals.

She should’ve convinced him to go to his bedroom to lay down before he fell asleep, but it only takes one look at his face to know that she’d rather lick the floor of the bullpen than wake him up.

So he lets him get some rest on her shoulder, and somewhere along the way she falls asleep with her cheek rested on his head.

Her last conscious though, is that she would spend a lifetime trying to make this up to him. 


End file.
